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by deek eh
Summary: An apprentice has been haunted her whole life. She hopes the Rite will ease her suffering. The story of Isla the Bloody, who thought the voices were Fade demons. Set before the Fifth Blight. Entry for the Asunder Creative Writing Challenge.


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It was quiet that night.

From where she lay in the bed, Isla could barely hear the steps of the templars that walked the halls of the tower. Maybe she chose not to hear the clanking steps, the chink of steel as the plates slid together. She wondered how they would react if those plates were forced inwards, crushing their…

She quickly rolled over and clasped her pillow over her head. It was just those thoughts that had led to her decision. Dark thoughts, thoughts no person should have, whispers in the back of her mind as she daydreamed about how it would feel to push just a bit harder on the nail sticking out of the table, how to feel to slide that length of metal through the templar who carried it –

Her eyes shot open and she sat straight up, chest heaving and heart hammering wildly. It was too quiet in this strange room, a room the First Enchanter had given just so she could have these last few moments alone. She clutched her head, hands tight over her ears as though that would block out the thoughts, those that had haunted her since she could remember. It had been easy to ignore at first, only a flash here or there, her imagination running wild with the books she had read on the deeds of maleficar.

For the most part, it had been easy to block them out. To the world, she was just a girl who had a nervous disposition, an introvert, shy and meek; few were close to her. She was diligent in her studies, invested in her classes, had an interest in the healing arts. As far as the templars were concerned, once she was harrowed, she would be the perfect mage. While she wasn't the most talented, she certainly wasn't the type to cause problems.

If they only knew.

If they knew that the only reason she had chosen to study creation magic was it was the only magic where her thoughts didn't wander too much, where it was easiest to concentrate. Primal was too hard to control, the arcane made the whispers worse and entropy wasn't even an option. The act of reaching out to another life force satisfied her too much, the infliction of pain and suffering stirred feelings in her she should not have. At least healing had the gore the cacophony craved.

If they knew the things that ran through her mind when she stood near someone about to hurt themselves, how the thought crossed to push the enchanter who neared the edge down the stairs, to nudge the apprentice pouring hot water, to trip the chantry sister who carried the incense and candle.

These things frightened her, why did no one else suffer as she did? She had once asked a classmate why they put their test animal out of its misery, instead of watching its process of dying. The poor girl had given her a stricken look and, to this day, refused to meet her eye. She would spend long nights worrying what horrors her dreams might present, she could never fully relax for fear of acting on her notions of the macabre.

The day of her sixteenth birthday had been the final straw.

There had been an escape attempt; the group in question had been cornered in the library where she was studying with an older apprentice. She had watched, entranced, as the three men plunged small blades into their arms, their blood not having a chance to pool before it was pulled into the air by an unseen force. She could feel the magic; her own body sung with its use, exhilaration filled her. The things it did to those templars, even now her pulse quickened at the thought of such horrible things. For months after, she had yearned to feel such a power again, to feel the sensation of blood leaving a body and becoming one with her. She had read about blood magic and its theory, abhorring the thought of using another life for her own pleasure.

Yet those voices tempted her, told her that if she made the prick on this girl's finger a little bigger, the gash on that boy's knee a little deeper, she could again have that same feeling of elation. She was, at once, physically sick yet excited, with the images those whispers brought to mind. She didn't want these things to happen, it was her biggest fear, her darkest nightmare. That's why she chose creation, that's why she tutored, that's why she smiled and said hello to any face she met.

She didn't want to harm anyone.

And, as hard as she fought, she knew there was only one escape for her.

She went to Irving.

He had looked at her, horrified and amazed, when she asked for the Rite; she refused to tell him her reasoning. In the end, through his persistence and warnings, he could not sway her decision and the arrangements were made.

Isla walked to the barred window of her room. She had been given it, just for the night, to prepare herself. Earlier, she had been given leave to go out into the gardens with an escort to breathe in the fresh air, relish the feel of the sun and the breeze on her skin. She hadn't had classes in a week, so she might enjoy life's little pleasures a while long. As of tomorrow, she would be Tranquil, and she would be free of her connection to the Fade.

As she looked out on Lake Calenhad, she wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn't been born a mage, if she still had her freedom, if she'd been normal. Maybe she would have stayed in the city with her parents, maybe they would have moved to a farm. She might have been married, had children, had that pet cat she had wanted her whole childhood.

She might have been haunted her whole life by these black machinations. She might have become a coldblooded murderer, emotionless, detached from society and the world, her dispassionate mind only focused on one thing, to kill, maim, injure those around her, from her mother or husband to the stranger on the street.

And, as the sun began its slow rise, she praised the Maker.

Because Tranquils had no feelings, no passions, and no connection to the Fade. She would be just like everyone else.


End file.
